Without thinking she began to hum her song. Aisling chuckled softly and joined in, singing the words in a small clear voice. It was an old song, come over-mountain with the Old Race when they first trickled across the bordering range to settle the wild empty Karsten lands. A peasant song, it had a gentle wandering tune in a minor key and words that were in one sense banal, in another, full of the meaning of life itself. But it changed key and strength in the last lines, soaring in power and passion.
It had been Ciara’s favorite ever since Lanlia, her mother, had sung her to sleep with it often when Ciara was barely a toddler forcing herself to remain awake until the last lines. She in turn had sung it to the baby Aisling. Ciara sang the words softly. Oh, yes. Her dreams had changed. Now she hoped that Aisling would be safe and happy, that Kirion would be defeated and his puppet duke unstrung, that Keelan would come home in time to rule Aiskeep wisely but not yet.
She smiled at them all and sang louder. Keelan had picked up a pipe and was accompanying them. Old Hannion had trotted away and reappeared with his bagpipes. Hadrann had picked up two spoons and was providing a rhythmic accompaniment. The welcome home became noisier, more musical.
One by one servants trickled in to join the music making and dancing. Enthroned in his chair Trovagh laughed as he watched Ais-ling swung in the circle dance by Harran.
His gaze met Ciara’s, long love and alliance shared in that glance. He stood. “Can’t let the youngsters think we’re too old to celebrate.” He bowed low over her hand. “Do me the honor of dancing, my Lady.” He spoke a few quiet words to Harran, and the tune changed. The impromptu band slowed then swung with the pipes into the soft “Lament for the Fallen Hills,” written by a great musician after the Turning.
Trovagh danced, Ciara with him. It was a slow dance but beautiful and very graceful in its simplicity. They finished and sat again as the pipes broke into a wild swinging skirl of sound. Aisling was on her feet with Hadrann. Keelan joined them, holding Jonrie from Jontar’s garth by the hand. Their feet hammered the floor as they leapt to battle and music and the equally old tune of “Beware, the Clans Are Riding!”
They danced it twice through before Ciara signaled a halt. Then Aisling came with her companions. They held food and drink and formed a small circle around Ciara and her lord. Ciara looked at them.
“And are the clans riding? I do not like the latest news Geavon sends from Kars. How close are you to fulfilling the geas, Aisling?”
The girl looked worried. “To the first question, I think the clans are too close. To the second, I’m not so close to fulfilling the geas.” She looked at her brother, and he took over.
“Kirion’s been stupid. I think Shastro wanted to weaken the Coast Clan. So he persuaded Kirion to use sorcery to make accidents happen to their leaders. However they had a few too many accidents. No one could prove anything, but the clan became suspicious and angry…”
“I heard about Franzo’s army,” Ciara said seriously. “Whatever possessed the pair of them to think the Coast Clan would not suspect more than ‘accidents?’ It’s only fortunate it was Franzo in charge.”
Hadrann spoke grimly. “That good fortune may be about to be lost.” He quickly told the tale of Jedena and her death. Ciara whitened.
“Then the clan may ride to war. If Franzo rides there isn’t a man who’d hang back. What would make him act?”
Hadrann considered. “He loves his half sister. She’s half-mad with grief over her daughter. Franzo’s youngest is heir now that Je-dena’s dead. Franzo is an old friend too of his sister’s lord. It’s all a big tangle, Lady, but I think that if anything else happens to his sister or her man, Franzo will forget his cool head and call out the clan. He loves others also; if aught happens to them it could be sufficient.”
“What could happen?”
“Anything. Even if it looks like an accident it could be enough. The clan have seen too many accidents or coincidences. They no longer believe them to be either.”
Ciara’s eyes lit with anger. “That stupid pair. Karsten doesn’t need another war, least of all one among ourselves. I swear there are times I wonder who cursed us. Ever since that half-wit of a duke and his Kolder friends.” She looked at them eyes still furious. “And what about Kirion and the duke?”
It was Aisling who replied to that tart query. “It’s difficult. I’m supposed to keep both of them from starting a war with Estcarp. That’s how Hilarion read the geas. It means I probably have to see both destroyed because they won’t stop otherwise, but that isn’t simple. I can’t attack Kirion openly; if I attack him and fail he’d use it to set the duke against me.”
She bit her lip. “Kirion would probably start by claiming that Kee was involved in any attempted assassination of his brother. At the very least Shastro would have Kee murdered for that. He’d almost certainly have Hadrann killed too, since everyone knows he and Kee are good friends. One of the Escore leaders once said that assassination is easy and impossible to prevent if the assassin is willing to die and doesn’t care what may happen to his kin afterward. But I do care, and I don’t want to die either. Not when my death could refuel Kirion’s sorcery for him. If I fail and survive he’d have that chance.”
Ciara nodded. “I see the risk. What of the duke then? If he were gone Kirion would have to seek out another puppet?”
Hadrann smiled ruefully. “He would indeed and he’d make sure whoever had wrecked his plans paid for it, if he could find us. But he’d inflame the people against Estcarp for a start. He’d claim Shas-tro’s death was a plot to weaken Karsten, and many would believe him. He’d step up raids across the border using that excuse to gather in others he can leech of power. I fear our disposal of the duke, even if we succeeded in that, would help rather than hinder Kirion.”
Ciara glared, her own look exasperated. “So what do you intend to do?”
“We play a waiting game, Grandmother.” Aisling’s voice was soft. “If we are patient, then a time will come when we can reach Shastro without Kirion being able to claim it was Estcarp’s doing. Or Kirion will relax his guard, and we can strike before he knows. Perhaps they will turn one against the other. I rode to war over-mountain. I learned one thing from that: patience is seldom amiss; impatience is almost always an error. We wait.”
Her grandmother nodded unwillingly. “If the geas will allow it who am I to argue?”
“Thus far I have not been urged to act more swiftly.” Her face became thoughtful. “This business with Franzo may be a chance. If he moves against the duke again and then we struck, all would think it to have been the Coast Clan’s doing. Kirion could scream against Estcarp all he liked. Few would listen to him.”
“No, they’d be busy escalating a civil war against the clan,” Hadrann groaned. “I swear, there are times when I feel like a kitten tangled in a ball of wool. There’s trouble whichever way we turn.”
Ciara laughed and stood. “To bed with you all, my children. Winter comes. Rest, play, relax, and make plans. Spring will be time enough to worry about what must be done.” She walked across to where Trovagh sat watching the dancers. “Come, my dear Lord. Us for our bed.” He gave her his arm, and they left quietly. Behind them the celebration continued until dawn. But like her grandmother, Ais-ling had sought her bed earlier.
She slipped between sheets warmed with a warming pan and was almost asleep when a heavy weight joined her. A purr made the identity plain, and she slid a hand down to fondle soft fur. Then she slept and dreamed. Under a soft spring sky an army lay at the Kars gate. Above the main tent floated the pennants of the Coast Clan and Franzo, followed by those of many septs and keeps. Down the main avenue of the city sped a group of men, soldiers by their gear.